Chapter Twenty
chapter twenty
MAY
“I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us!” Marina smacks my arm. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us this as soon as this happened?”
“That’s what the shot slingers' chat is for!” Isla adds.
“Okay, could you two keep it down, please?” I whisper shout.
“Sorry if we can’t keep our cool when you tell us you and Rafael had a sexual interaction.”
I put my hand on my head. “Oh my god, why did you have to word it like that?”
“What else do you want to call it?”
“I don’t know, perving?” I throw my hand up.
“It’s only perving if it’s a secret. That was no secret.” Marina finishes her drink.
“Marina, I don’t think that’s what constitutes as perving,” Isla looks over at her. “But we’ll circle back to that. The main point is that you enjoyed the perving, right?”
I just take a gulp of my margarita in response, and Marina and Isla share a look before turning their incessant attention back to me.
“Okay, fine, I enjoyed the perving,” I whisper. They squeal in response .
“Shut up!” I loudly whisper. “I do not need anyone else knowing about this,” I gesture around the bar, before looking directly at Isla. “I’m looking at you too, Beckett. If you tell Caio, I will bury you in my backyard.”
She holds her hand to her heart before putting it between us with her pinky outstretched. “It’s locked up.”
We used to say that in college, back when we had endless secrets to share between ourselves that could never reach another’s ears.
Marina’s pinky joins Isla’s. “It’s locked up,” she repeats, before I reach my pinky out to meet theirs and we tangle them together in a promise.
“So that’s why he was looking at you like that in the club on Saturday night,” Marina says. I just raise my eyebrows in response.
“No wonder he was so pissed when he saw you with Jack,” Isla adds.
“No, no, no, that was because Jack is or was with Marisol. He’s protective of his sister, you said so yourself,” I nod to Marina.
“He is, but now I’m thinking there was something else to it.”
“Uh-huh, okay Marina.” I drain the rest of my glass before placing it on the bar top. I don’t need to be thinking about that at all. I refuse to believe he was angry for any other reason. Even though I threaded my fingers through his. Even though he said ‘ she is my business, ’ I’m not going to lie to myself about the way that made my stomach flip. But I’m also not about to admit that to these two. They don’t need any more ammunition to spin a delusion.
“I’m going home.”
“It's home now, is it?” Isla says.
I ignore the knowing look in her eyes, the way she’s looking at me like she knows something that I don't.
I slip off my stool and flip them the bird as I turn to leave. “Night shit stirrers.”
I push open the gigantic front door with my ass and take a step inside. I can smell something delicious float up my nostrils, and it is not coming from the pizza box I’m balancing in my arms.
I set my keys in the bowl on the side table beside the door and slip off my shoes before making my way into the kitchen. Rafael looks up from where he’s standing at the cooktop. “Hey.”
“Hey.” And then we fall into silence. He continues whatever he’s doing in the kitchen as I drop the pizza box on the kitchen counter, which is louder than I meant it to be.
He walks over to the small radio sitting on the countertop and turns the big knob, turning up the music I didn’t even notice was playing.
“I didn’t know you liked The Beaches."
“There are lots of things you don’t know about me, Whitley,” he says, not taking his eyes from his project at hand.
“Well, that sounds ominous.”
I can feel his glare, even though he’s not looking at me. He’s right though. I know next to nothing about him. It’s kind of weird, it’s like I’m living with a stranger. He almost feels more like a stranger the longer this goes on. Like I know less and less the more time I spend with him.
This pizza is disgusting. I flip the lid shut after just one piece, picking up the box and walking it over to the rubbish bin. It doesn’t quite fit, so I start shoving. Folding the box and forcing it into the bin under the sink with a grunt.
“You should really stop ordering take outs to a chef's house; it’s insulting.”
I turn around, folding my arms in front of me as I lean back against the counter. “It’s not like you’re offering your services,” I spit. I can’t help it. Pissed off is my default when it comes to him.
Rafael finally looks over at me. “I cook every night. It’s not my fault you never come out of your room. ”
“Oh yeah, cause your hospitality is sooo welcoming.”
He drops the wooden spoon he was mindlessly stirring around the pan and strides over to me. He swears in Italian as he cages me in, his hands on either side of me, leaning on the counter.
His face is inches from mine, a frown wrinkling between his brows, as usual.
“What?” I ask, my voice firm as I lift my head.
He wants to intimidate me? Not gonna happen.
His eyes survey my face, going from feature to feature, like he’s calculating the distance between my eyes. Time feels like it stands still. It feels like we’ve been here not for seconds, but minutes. Every breath that passes feeling slightly longer, and every second heat builds in my body, every spot that Rafael’s dark eyes roam over burns in his trail.
“You look like you really want me to touch you right now,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Like you’re aching to know what it would’ve felt like if I did more than just watch you that night.”
My heart is drumming in my chest, a steady beat I can feel in every corner of my body. The thing is, I don’t know if he’s wrong, but like hell am I ever going to admit it. “I think it’s you that’s dying for it. That has to physically hold yourself back from touching me.” His eyes dip to my lips before he meets my gaze again.
This close, it’s like I can see every thought swimming around in those brown eyes, can see the inner debate. It’s like how people say the eyes are the window into the soul. But it’s like this window is frosted over, and I can only see movements and shadows, unable to decipher what’s really going on behind it.
I hear the sizzle of the pan from across the room, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I look over his shoulder. “You better get that.”
His eyes snap back to mine and stay there. It’s as if he’s memorizing me, memorizing this moment. His nostrils flare before he presses off the counter and goes back to the cooktop.
I finally let out a sigh. My body heaving with relief now that he’s gone, but also feeling suddenly cold without his searing gaze upon my skin. I’m stuck in place, only able to watch him as he reaches for a bowl in the cupboard above where he stands. He pulls out two.
I watch as he grabs a serving spoon and heaps two generous servings of what looks like risotto into the two bowls. He turns everything off, and grabs two forks out of the utensil drawer, placing them in the bowls and sliding one over to me. “ Buon appetitto .”
“What if I wasn’t hungry?” I say.
“You barely finished one slice of pizza. That’s hardly dinner.”
I frown. I want to refuse, but I’m starving, and this smells amazing. “Thank you,” I say, and it sounds wrong coming out of my mouth when I’m talking to Rafael.
“You’re welcome.” That sounds even weirder.
I take the bowl from the counter and make my way to the big dining table that sits beside the kitchen. I’ve never sat here because I’ve never needed to. It feels far too big.
Rafael sits at the opposite end of the table to me. With six seats between us, it feels like we’re some king and queen in the medieval times. “Do you host a lot here?”
“No, why?” His tone is forcibly dry, as if he’s trying to pretend the last five minutes never occurred.
“Well, I mean,” I scoff, looking at the huge table between us, but he just looks at me blankly. “This table is huge. Before I came along, only you lived here, right? So why the grand dining room?”
He looks down, moving his fork in his bowl. “It’s a big room. It needed a big table.”
“Right…”
I guess a small table would look ridiculous in this big wide- open space, but then again, why is this place so big? Why did Rafael build a house for ten when it’s just him here?
After dinner, Rafael cleaned up. I offered to do it since he cooked, but he refused. Seemingly he doesn’t want to get domestic with me. He’s thrown my emotions for a loop all in one night. I’m never able to figure him out.
I sit down on the couch and pull my crocheted blanket over my legs. The smell of smoke seemed to drift away with the breeze that day I hung it up outside, so I can now cozy up under it without feeling suffocated by the memories of that night.
I reach over to the coffee table, grabbing my current read and settle back into the corner of the couch. I’m reading a romance about a hockey player and an ice skater this week and I am loving every single second. Until the couch bounces as Rafael sits down at the other end.
“What are you doing?”
“Same as you.” He pulls out the sci-fi novel I saw him buying that day at The Cozy Corner. “Is that okay?” He asks sarcastically.
“Don’t distract me.”
“Don’t distract me,” he parrots back.
I roll my eyes in response and raise my book up so it’s blocking my view of him.
I can hear the soft sound of him flipping the pages as we sit here in silence. I’m still pissed off by him, and he is of me. It’s like a permanent state we live in, but for once it’s almost a peaceful kind of pissed off. Existing in each other's presence without any snarky remarks for more than ten minutes.
“I got something for you today,” he says quietly.
“What?” I lower my book so I can see him. “You,” I point at him. “Got something…for me?” I point ba ck to myself.
He sighs. “Is that so hard to believe?” There goes our peaceful existence.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Fine, I’ll take it back tomorrow.”
I slam my book shut. “What? I never said I didn’t want it.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head.
“But now I’m just going to be constantly thinking about it.”
“Not my problem.” His eyes haven’t left the page of his book since he started this conversation.
I sit up and cross my legs. “Yes, your problem. You did this.”
“I’m not the one who’s going to be up all night thinking about it.”
“Like you were up all night last week, thinking about me getting myself off?” His eyes snap to mine. Got him. “Is that what it is? A new vibrator?”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Tell me what it is, and you won’t hear another peep out of me for the rest of the night.” He just subtly shakes his head. If I wasn’t so focused on him, I’d barely notice he moved. “Pleaaase?” I beg. “Please, please, please.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He slams his book shut and stands up. “You’re like a kid at Christmas.”
“Tease me with a good time and I won’t let up.” His steps falter on his way to the kitchen at my words, just like I hoped they would. I can’t help it now. Something has switched between us, our taunts holding a different kind of tension to what they used to. Our conversations sit somewhere between bickering and flirting, and I don’t know exactly what to do with that.
Rafael reaches up and opens one of the cupboards far out of my reach. His big hand grabs a hold of whatever it is and pulls it down, before turning to face me and holding it behind his back.
I let a small smile slip. “Come on, then.”
He walks forward and places a mug on the island between us, and not just any mug. A whale mug. His tail curls around the side of the cup, making the perfect sized handle. My heart skips a beat as I imagine Rafael buying this. Something inside me melting at his thoughtfulness.
“Where did you get that?” I say, finally meeting his eyes, but he quickly looks away.
“I went to the market on Sunday.”
My mind flashes with the image of Rafael wandering through the market. Of him coming across the handmade mug stall and sorting through all the options before settling on the whale. Of him packing it up and bringing it home. Of him hiding it in that top cupboard. “Why did you get it?”
Apprehension sits in his dark eyes as they meet mine. “For you.”
I tug my bottom lips between my teeth. I don’t know what to say.
“You said my mugs were boring, so I thought I’d get you one with a little bit of…character.” He looks down at the mug and then back to me. “I can take it back if you don’t like it.”
“No!” I jump off the couch, shedding my blanket. “I love it.”
I walk over and pick it up, feeling the weight of the whale in my hands. “He’s perfect.” I meet Rafael’s gaze. “You didn’t have to do this. Your boring mugs did the job.”
“I wanted to.” My heart drops.
“Well, thank you.” I smile at him, and I swear he smiles back. Not with his lips, but with his eyes. Like the sun peeked through the dark clouds, just for a moment.
He walks over and opens another cupboard. He grabs out a packet and throws it on the counter in front of me. “I got some of these, too.” Mini marshmallows.
I smile even brighter. “You want a hot chocolate?”